Don't Hand Me No Lines and Keep Your Hands To Yourself

I'm reminiscing about my mom today, how she was when she was clear, years ago back in Fort Wayne.  When I was a teenager, she was always working really hard at our restaurant where I learned my love of tostadas, like the ones I made tonight.  She was very busy but she tried to take interest in my bizarre life.  This story ties in my grieving for my mother, the #metoo movement and the humor even in tough life situations.

I think my second year of high school I had broken it off with my regular boyfriend and was taking photography.  I was trying to pour my efforts into this one class, the only thing saving me from dropping out of school altogether.  We were given an assignment to capture action shots, so I went out to watch basketball at the park.  I started to notice my ex's friend Charlie with his southern accent and long golden hair.  He looked like he could make trouble pretty easily.  He had taken his shirt off to play and although I don't remember being affected by this type of behavior ever before, suddenly a part of me awoken to the dawn.  I developed the pictures in the dark room and remember staring at them a little too long.  But Charlie was a an ultra-loud wild, party type.  I liked the funny stoner guys that were cute and effeminate, not the sweaty-bodied jocks.  He was like watching a TV show though and had a really great smile with a big giant presence that would fill the room.  He probably listened to 8 tracks of 38 Special and Molly Hatchet, on the regular, not just when they came on the radio like the rest of us.  I believe he started fights while drinking and had the habit of throwing open the door when entering the room. When you're 17 you don't really have to guess too hard when someone likes you.  He was very forward.  I had a small crush, but knew it would probably end bad.  There were signs.  But I was newly single and figured I'd give him a try.  After the usual few times at the park getting stoned and hanging around the car with a group of friends he invited me to his relative's that he was house sitting.  All during this time beforehand he would call at night and if I wasn't home which many times I was not, he would talk to my mom.  These conversations would go on for way longer lengths of time than I could make sense of but I thought it was kind of cute.  He called himself Charles on the phone and she thought he was very charming.  He even had her rooting for him.  This was what they called courting she told me.  My mom was a really good judge of character and could normally smell a rat. I'm not sure what she saw in Charlie.  Maybe the same thing I did.   Well I barely had the heart to tell her that the minute I got into that house, he turned into a madman octopus.  He kissed me once but real hard and creepy and it immediately turned so explosively physical that within minutes I was actually scared. He had picked me up like I was a rag doll.  I squirmed off the couch like the cat in Pepe Le Pew. 

Only it was not funny.  I was so unclear on how to escape this situation with my teenage girl mind.  This was new territory.  I tried saying, hey man, slow down with nervous giggles and pushing away but nothing was stopping this train.  He ignored all of my pleas for him to stop and just be cool.  Hell I probably thought there was a chance we would have sex but never like this.  It was the middle of the afternoon.  That was unheard of in my world. No everything about this had turned sour after that first tongue jab to the throat.  I got up and ran to the door but he beat me to it.  He pushed against the door as I was tugging at the lock.  I was all disheveled but could see his wild face through my hair.  He thought this was a game but I had gone from feeling awkward shy to full on flight mode.  I needed to get out of that house or I was going to be raped, pure and simple.  How did this get so scary so fast I thought?  Immediately I decided this would be my fault no matter how it ends.  I knew better.  I flirted with danger.  My last clear memory of that day is of his giant dimpled face being right up to mine at that orange door.  He was breathing really heavy and his smile had lost all its cute.  I got the lock turned and then he smashed my body between the door and outside. He was still pulling my arm from the inside but I knew I made it when I felt the sun.  I ran to my car. I never screamed but I did threaten to.  I think that's when he let go of my arm. That's how it ended.  I was shaken up pretty bad and remember barely being able to get my keys in the ignition, but I was fine.  I never forgot it though.  When you're 17 you move on fairly quickly too.  I stopped hanging out with that particular group and never saw him around.  But that little asshole had the nerve to keep calling and I came home several nights while my mom was sitting at her nice antique phone table talking to Charles, her idea of a great guy for me.  I finally told her what happened and she asked him to never call there again. My mom was a genuine, unique woman and she had been swindled too.  When enough time had passed to joke about it, we would imitate his voice saying 'this is Charles' and laugh at loud while looking at each other with knowing eyes.